Releasing the Mockingjay
by the25thtribute
Summary: Rue Vellims is shocked when she's selected to compete in the Hunger Games. Follow her from start to finish - from the Reaping to her death - as she fights to survive in a mysterious arena. Let the games begin, and may the odds be ever in your favor!


**Chapter 1: Mockingjays and Peacekeepers**

The sun beats down on my skin as I pull an apple from its place on the tree I am in. The bright rays shine off of the apple's deep red skin, causing it to seem even more inviting. My stomach rumbles loudly and I whip my head around to be sure nobody has heard the unattractive sound. I'm tempted to eat the fruit, just a tiny bite of it, but I know the punishment for eating the crops without purchasing them first. It's the thought of that alone that keeps me from setting my lips to the apple's skin. I set the fruit in my bag and reach up into the tree for another one.

The Peacekeepers wouldn't hear my excuses if I were to take a bite of one of the crops. Cruel District Eleven. I sigh. The whippings here alone are enough to break a man, and the punishments only grow worse. I recall one man – a terribly frail, starving man – who had tried to smuggle a few oranges out of the work fields in order to feed his family. That particular day, the fruit was being sent to the Capitol. When the Peacekeepers discovered the three oranges beneath the man's too-large shirt, they beat him so brutally that he could barely walk. And the next day, they forced him to continue working despite the fact that his wounds had barely even begun to heal.

_But that's just what they do in District Eleven_, I think to myself as I set another apple in the burlap sack I have slung over my shoulder. Punish people, just not to the point where the person can no longer work. No, District Eleven doesn't lose its workers that easily. It breaks them, it burdens them; but only if someone commits are particularly offensive crime will District Eleven allow itself to lose a worker.

_I shake my head as I pick another apple from the tree. I've grown so accustomed to this type of work. Picking fruit, harvesting crops - it's all so natural to me now. It's as if there is a rhythm to it that all of the workers follow. From that rhythm, I've developed a signal to tell all of the workers that the work day is done._

_I take one more apple from the tree, following the constant rhythm I've developed. Pluck the fruit from its stem, check it for bruises or holes, set it in the sack. Pluck, check, set. Pluck, check, set. I hum the tune I've developed as I do so. Four notes: one low note for when I pick the fruit, two high-pitched notes for double checking the skin, and one more low one for when I drop it into the bag._

I stop humming for a moment and look up toward the sky. "The day should be over soon," I mumble to myself. The yellow and orange streaks of sunset fill the sky.

As if on cue, someone calls my name. I look downward and see a teenage boy. He is tall and muscular, with a broad chin and wide shoulders. He would tower over me if I weren't high up in an apple tree. I don't know his name, but I recognize him easily enough. I've seen him around town and working in the fields.

"Rue," he calls up to me. "The Peacekeepers say the work day is over."

"Okay," I tell him, and drop my last apple in the bag. My bag is heavy and rather big. I always have a bit of trouble with it because I have such a small figure. I make a sound of annoyance as I try to position the bag in just the right place so that I can climb down from the tree easily. _Perhaps if I hang it from a branch…._

"Want me to take that for you?" the boy asks, eyeing the bag I'm struggling to bring to the ground. "I'll tell the guards that it's yours."

"Sure," I say, a smile breaking out across my face. "Thank you." I drop the heavy bag and he catches it easily in his arms.

"Thank you," I say again.

He looks up at me as if he might say something, but just nods one terse nod before turning around and leaving, gripping my bag in one hand and his own in the other as he walks toward the crates designated for the harvest.

Now that I don't have the burden of a heavy burlap sack, I make my way down the tree without hesitation. Once I reach the ground, I whistle my four-note tune as loudly as possible. Several birds - mockingjays - show their interest in the short melody and perch on the branches of the trees surrounding me. I whistle the tune again, loud and clear, and then they're off. The mockingjays fly away from me, above the trees and over the orchard, mimicking my tune, passing it on to the other birds, until the entire orchard is alive with a beautiful harmony. This is always my favorite part of the day, the sound of the mockingjays as they signal to everyone that the work day is over.

I smile as I turn around and make my way to the living quarters of my section of District Eleven, past lines of apple trees and groups of workers making their way to the crates. I'm about halfway to the gate when I'm stopped by the sound of a very familiar voice.

"Hey Rue!" it calls. "Rue, wait up!"

I don't have to turn around to know who it is. "Hey Lily," I answer. I don't stop, but I do slow my pace so that she can catch up. She reaches me when I am a few feet away from the harvest crates. Workers split up into lines, three crates to each line, and put what they've gathered into one of the designated wooden bins. Two Peacekeepers stand guard on each of the lines, watching the workers put the day's harvest into the awaiting crates and then checking them to be sure they are not smuggling anything out of the work zone.

I choose the shortest line available, wishing I didn't have to go through it because I've technically already turned in my day's work.

Lily immediately begins to put her apples into one of the crates in our line. "Where are your apples?" she asks me, only now noticing that I'm without my usual heavy sack.

"A boy took them for me when he told me it was the end of the day."

"Oh," she says as she sets the last of the apples into the bin. "I didn't know you could do that."

"Well, he said he would tell the 'keepers that he took them for me," I tell her.

A Peacekeeper watches Lily carefully to be sure she puts every last apple into the crate. He has her lift her arms and he pats her down. When he feels certain she isn't trying to steal anything, he waves her on. I try to pass by him as well, but he grabs me by the wrist.

The Peacekeeper has ginger hair and a scruffy, matching beard. His face is gaunt, his chin narrow, and his nose large. His eyes are wide and round, and protrude a bit from their place on his face, reminding me of a hawk staring down its prey.

"Where is your harvest for the day, Rue?" he asks me in a whisper. It surprises me that he knows my name, but I don't ask him how he does. I'm too shocked and afraid to say anything but, "A boy took it for me." I repeat this several times, my nerves sending tremors through my body.

"Which boy?" asks the Peacekeeper, strengthening his hold on my wrist. It begins to hurt, but I refuse to cry out in pain. He doesn't deserve the satisfaction. I grit my teeth and hope my face has been wiped clean of any trace of fear.

"I-I don't know his name," I answer, silently cursing my nervous stutter.

In the distance, I see Lily stop when she realizes I'm not following her. She looks around for a moment until she spots me. Her eyes grow wide when she sees the Peacekeeper's hand gripping my wrist. She doesn't come to help me, though. She just stares at the scene, a look of surprise on her face.

"Did you just not want to work today, Rue?" asks the Peacekeeper. His voice is quiet, but I sense the threat behind it. I know the punishment for someone who chooses not to work during designated hours. I don't want to work through the night. Dangerous, ravenous creatures come into the orchard when night falls. I've heard all the unpleasant stories; last year, they found a young boy torn to pieces. He died from loss of blood.

The thought removes my stoic mask, revealing how truly frightened I am."No, sir," I answer in a panic. "I had been struggling with it because it was heavy, and a boy - he told me that the work day was over, and he asked if he could take my bag for me. He said he would tell you that he took it for me."

"But he didn't," the Peacekeeper hisses.

"I promise, I'm telling the truth." I whimper as I try to free my wrist, but his grasp only tightens, sending pain up my arm.

"I think you're lying," he says, his soft voice turning into a growl.

My anger and fear gets the best of me, and I begin to panic. "I swear, I'm not!" I yell. "I promise. Just-just let me find him and he'll tell you the truth!"

Now that my voice has grown to a shout, people have stopped what they are doing to watch the scene. I want one of them to stand for me, to tell the Peacekeeper that they saw the boy with two bags of apples, to offer to find the boy. No one does anything, though; everyone just watches, just like Lily. I don't blame them, though. Going up against a Peacekeeper would lead to a whipping.

"Please," I beg. "Let me get him. I can prove it to you!"

"Give it up, runt," says the Peacekeeper, his condescending tone rising above my own voice. He lets go of my wrist, pushing me away from him as he does so, back toward the apple orchard. He pushes me so fiercely, I nearly lose my balance and fall to the muddy ground. "You're working until your day's quota is filled. I don't care if you have to work through the night!"

I grit my teeth and bite back the urge to kick and scream and do anything but work any longer. The sun is already setting. The sky is growing darker by the minute. And the worst part of it all: he knows I'm telling the truth. I can see it in his eyes and the cruel set of his lips. Yet he insists I am lying! I clench my fists and hold them at my sides, preparing myself to accept my undeserved punishment when another Peacekeeper comes toward us.

I recognize him easily. It's Peacekeeper Leeth, one of the less vicious Peacekeepers in District Eleven. Not that he hasn't given his fair share of whippings.

Everyone watches Leeth as he whispers something to the Peacekeeper who had been holding my arm. Leeth gestures toward me, and then toward the fence near the orchard exit. I follow his hands and look toward the fence. There, I see the boy who had taken my bag for me. He is staring at me, apologies apparent in his eyes.

I accept his apology, giving him a tiny nod to be sure he understands. Then I quickly look back to Leeth and the other Peacekeeper before they can see that I'm looking away. I don't want them to think that I'm about to run.

The first Peacekeeper looks back at me once the other has finished speaking. Although it looks as if he would rather be stung by a trackerjacker than allow me to leave, he nods and says, "You're free to go, Rue."

"Thank you, sir," I say. My gratitude is toward Leeth, but the narrow-faced Peacekeeper grunts an acknowledgement. I hurry toward the exit, where Lily is still standing. When I reach her, she breaks free of her trance.

"Oh man, Rue," she says in a whisper, "that was close!"

"Yeah," I agree, breathless. I look behind me, back at the Peacekeeper. He's still staring after me. I feel my eyes grow wide and quickly look away from him, picking up my pace and turning around a street corner so that I am completely out of sight.

Neither Lily nor I speak for a while as we walk further into our town. After we reach the town square, though, Lily grins at me, relief apparent in her features. Lily looks a lot like me. She has dark skin, black hair, and large round eyes. However, she's much taller than me. Then again, most people are.

"So, Rue," she says, still smiling. "My Mom got cake for tomorrow."

"Cake?" I ask. Just the thought of it has my mouth watering. I can barely recall the last time I had a slice of the delicious dessert.

"Chocolate cake," she specifies. "I haven't seen it yet. Mom hid it so that we kids won't steal it. But you should see if you can come over tomorrow and have some."

"Okay," I say. Then I pause. "But I want to make a deal."

Lily arches one of her thin eyebrows. "A deal?"

"Yep."

"What kind of deal?" she asks suspiciously.

"I get to have an extra big piece tomorrow if-" I pause, thinking.

"_If_...?" Lily presses.

"If you can't beat me home!" I shout, and then I'm off, running toward home as quickly as possible.

"No fair!" Lily laughs, and, just a second later, I hear the sound of her shoes smacking the street beneath her feet.

We race through town over stone streets, past workers and Peacekeepers, past shop owners, past houses with rusting fences. The Peacekeeper incident is out of my thoughts now, as if I've raced past it and left it behind me in the town square.

I see my house in the distance and pick up my pace, excitement pressing me forward. Lily is only a few steps behind me when I reach the front door.

"Rue, that's not fair," she pants, leaning against the door. "You know you're faster than me!"

I laugh, completely energized. "Sorry," I tell her. "I couldn't help myself."

Lily rolls her eyes, but is grinning, so I know she's not truly annoyed with me. "Fine, but I want a rematch tomorrow."

"Sounds good to me!" I exclaim, my spirits lifted.

We are chatting in front of my house when Lily's mother calls to her from the house beside mine. "Lily," she says, "it's getting dark, come inside." She looks to me and smiles. "Hello, Rue," she says with a wave.

"Hi Mrs. Joson," I call.

"Coming, Mom," Lily replies. Then she turns to me. "See you tomorrow," she says. She runs to her house and, as she opens her door, she waves to me and says, "Remember: rematch!"

I laugh as I wave goodbye to Lily. Then I open the door to my own house. Every light inside is turned off save the kitchen light. I walk toward it, my feet quietly slapping against the wooden floor. I don't expect there to be food on the kitchen table, so I'm surprised when I spot a couple of pieces of bread covered in jam for me to eat.

"Thanks," I say quietly to whoever left it. I'm not sure if it was Mom, Dad or Grams, but I'm grateful to whoever it is. I hate working the late shift in the fields. It's dark and my family is probably already in bed. When I pick up the plate, my stomach growls. I nibble on the bread as I make my way to my room. My house is small, so it really only takes a few steps to get to my bedroom.

I swallow a bite of bread and open the door to my room. My bedroom is small and plain, with only one window, white blankets, a closet, and three tiny beds, two of which hold dreaming children. Amantha and Calla, the twins, sleep on one of them, and Aven sleeps in another. I change into my night clothes, finish my dinner, and then lay in bed. I do everything quietly so as to not rouse my siblings.

Whereas hearing the mockingjays in the fields is the best part of my day, this is my least favorite part of the day. Although it is a relief to lie down and feel my muscles relax after long working hours, the minutes before sleep are the ones during which my brain is most active.

Lying here, I can think of everything. I remember the Peacekeeper and his cruel attitude, the boy and his apologetic look; I recall the feeling of the Peacekeeper's hand around my wrist and grimace as I remember the pain. The worst thought, though, is that of an event that has not yet occurred. I lay in bed, thinking of tomorrow.

I had been having so much fun with Lily that I'd almost forgotten that tomorrow is the day everyone is dreading. Almost, but not quite. Because, just like everybody in Panem, I could never forget about the Games. I cannot forget that the cake Lily's mother bought is actually for celebrating the fact that her children had not been chosen.

I sigh, roll over in bed, and put the pillow over my head. We can try to push the reality of the Games from our minds, to rid ourselves of the terrifying nightmares, but the thought is always there, in our subconscious, an irritating buzz in the back of our minds. Reaping Day.

Tomorrow is Reaping Day. And this time, I'm included in the drawing.


End file.
